29

Charlie checked his watch and rose from his bed. He still had almost two hours to go, but he wasn’t sleeping anyway. He decided to put the time to better use than lying there and staring at the ceiling.

He kept the lights off. His room was in the servants’ quarters on the lowest floor. The walls were raw granite. The windows were set in frames three feet thick, the shutters operated by a system of rope pulleys. Gabriella had offered him a room upstairs with the scientists, but he had no interest in adding fuel to Brett’s fire. He liked how Irma and Julio had already gravitated to the lower level, shared only with the taciturn woman from some Soviet satellite state who cleaned and skulked in equal measure. Charlie yearned to be closer to Gabriella. But taking a bedroom along the upstairs hall would not change that.

With the shutters closed, the room was far darker than the night outside. Charlie touched each item of furniture, placing it in his brain. He began with stretches and calisthenics, then moved to a series of katas. His motions were restricted to fit the space he had, which was not much. He did not shut his eyes because he could not see anyway. By the time the hour was done, he was breathing hard. He was also far more easy about doing battle in the dead of night.

Charlie slipped on his clothes and knocked on Irma’s door. She answered instantly, already dressed. “I hate going in unarmed.”

She had said the exact same thing before going to bed. Charlie replied, “There’s still time for a coffee.”

“Do I look like I need caffeine?” She fell into step beside him. “Thirty years on the force and I never went into action without a piece.”

“No guns.”

“How many are coming at us?”

Charlie unlocked the front door, checked the night, saw nothing but rain. He stepped aside for her to exit, shut and locked the door behind them, and replied, “More than us.”

Irma gave a tight hiss but said nothing more. Charlie liked that. A lot. There was nothing wrong with warriors mouthing off before combat. Long as they knew when to shut up and follow orders.

Over the course of the day, Charlie had identified eight hideaways inside the grounds. They ranged from a fissure in the granite cliff to a walnut tree whose two middle branches joined and formed a platform broad enough for six men. But the last he had found was by far the best.

The kitchen had two ancient fireplaces. The main one could burn man-sized logs. The second one stood in the corner between the stone sink and the front window and had once been used for baking bread. At least, that was what Gabriella had told him. Charlie’s interest had not been in the fireplace but rather the chimney, which bulged out from the villa’s front wall, forming a narrow crevice to the right of the main entrance. Charlie was certain it had been intended to hold an unseen guard. The inhabitant could observe both the gates and the front door, but the stone chimney and the upper-floor balcony shielded the guard from view. And the flue would keep the guard warm all night long.

Charlie tipped his hat to the long-dead architect and said to Irma, “I want you to take up station in there.”

“How can you be sure they’ll come tonight?”

“They’re coming.”

“You and the lady did that dream sequence thingy again?”

“They call it ascending.”

“Whatever. You’re sure it works?”

“I’m sure.”

“You shouldn’t spread us out like this.”

“Put your feet on those stones—see how they protrude from the wall like steps?”

She remained where she was. “I should be down in the gatehouse with Julio.”

“Irma.”

“What.”

“Your training was all about cleaning up messes. My job is making sure the messes don’t happen.”

She reluctantly accepted his hand and climbed the stone steps. She fit in the alcove like it was made for her. “I feel naked without my piece.”

“You heard the lady. No guns. Reach behind you. I left you a crowbar.”

She whined, “Julio is completely isolated.”

“Exactly. Think of him as our tethered goat.”

Charlie entered the trees between the house and the front gates and climbed the one he had selected that afternoon. The rain slowed him, but not much. He perched on a branch and watched the street. Time passed with the same ease as the rain. The night was utterly still. He could see his breath but could not feel the chill. His inner fires were burning hot now. He was exactly where he should be. Doing the only job he had ever been good at. As alive as any man could possibly become.

Twenty minutes later, Charlie drifted back to stand beneath the chimney alcove. He was so juiced he drifted above the puddles and the gravel, touching nothing. When he was within range, Irma hissed, “I really should be down there with Julio.”

“Irma, listen to me. You are our last line of defense. Whatever happens, nobody gets through that front door. You read me?”

She released her defiance with a lingering sigh. “Whatever you say, chief.”

“Good.” He called softly, “Two cars. Nine men. I say again, nine.”

She stiffened. “They’re here?”

“Shh. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Who else is . . .” In the light off the front porch, Charlie saw her stiffen and track a silent wraith who plucked himself from the night and drifted down toward the gate. “What was that?”

“Our secret weapon. Stay alert. They’re coming.”